


Unravelled

by samchandler1986



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22663423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: Ruth makes a different decision after Sam tells her he's in love with her.
Relationships: Sam Sylvia/Ruth Wilder
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	Unravelled

His thumb finds the knot of tension, circling over the taut muscle in her shoulder. They are naked together, in the nest of his bedsheets. The radio is babbling and everything is soft and gold in the light of the lamps. 

“Jesus Christ, Ruth.” 

“You can feel it?” 

“Yeah. Just here, right?” Strong fingers dig deep; unknotting, unravelling. “What the fuck have you been doing?” 

“Um, wrestling maybe?” she laughs. 

“Alright, okay. I knew that. I meant, you know, which move _specifically_. Maybe we can change things up a little so—” 

“I’ll be fine, Sam. Honestly, it feels better already.” 

“Hmm.” He sounds sceptical, continuing his circling for a while. She shifts closer. His skin is warm against hers where their bare legs are tangled together. Eventually his mouth drops to her stiff shoulder, as she hoped it might. Pressing kisses now against her skin. She hums a smile, eyes falling closed as he moves up, along her neck, across the line of her jaw. 

“Yeah,” she hears herself say, feeling him smile. “This feels… feels pretty great.” 

And in a thousand other universes, she thinks, this probably never happened. A thousand other versions of herself left him steaming in that hot tub. Kept their doors firmly closed when they heard him come to bed. They lay in the dark, hearts hammering, and turned over to try and get some sleep.

_(But in this one she swung her legs out of bed and put pen to hotel paper instead. Two words written in trembling hand, folded in half. She stood and felt those thousand other futures stretching out, away. Took a step forward in the dark, stopped, and then took the next. And the next. Finding herself light-headed in the hotel corridor, piloting a body that felt like it didn’t belong to her. In this universe she went to slide her note under his door and—_

_“What the actual_ fuck _, Ruth?”_

_—and she almost fell backwards, as he wrenched it open and found her crouched on the carpet. Glaring down at her with barely restrained fury._

_“I just—I wanted to—”_

_“Will you stand up, for Christ’s sake?”_

_“It’s just a note,” she blurted, thrusting it at him as she stood. He unfolded the paper and read the words she’d written; and she wanted to run and run and run..._

_“It wasn’t? What the fuck does that mean, Ruth?”_

_And she had swallowed, as those thousand possible futures collapsed down to just this one; the one right in front of her._

_“It wasn’t what I was thinking all day.”)_

And in her reality, the here and now of three weeks later, his hands are moving over her body. Across her stomach; cupping her breasts. She takes his right and pushes it down between her legs instead. He takes her direction. Working there slow and deliberate, like they have all the time in the world for this. Until she’s panting slightly, and his erection is pressing into the small of her back, and she wants right now and more than anything to fuck him _senseless_ —

She turns to kiss him. Finding him equal parts surprised and delighted at her sudden ferocious need, she bears him down onto the mattress. He is hard between her thighs, kissing her frantic. And it’s the easiest thing in the world to move against him; finding the right position to slide down onto his cock. 

_Five_ , she thinks, at his sharp intake of breath. Because her brain is annoying like that sometimes, recording details she has no need for. It doesn’t _matter_ that this is the fifth time they’ve done this. The fifth time she’s felt him like this inside her. Still, five, she thinks. Pointlessly, intrusively, over and over. Until he takes her nipple into his mouth. Teasing her first with his tongue, then sucking harder. Grinning at the soft noises she makes. 

She rocks back and forth faster in retaliation. The bed frame bangs against the wall. He’s starting to lose all of that slow deliberation and self-assured cockiness. Groaning his pleasure now; his fingers digging into the softness of her hips as she rides him towards orgasm. His; hers: they both have that feeling of inevitability. The world is telescoping down, and all that matters right now is that he continues to fuck her just as hard as she is fucking him. 

His face tightens, almost a grimace. And she _likes_ it, she realises. Likes this face he makes when he’s right on the edge. She feels strangely powerful; the author of this maelstrom of feeling. Wild and wicked and _oh, fuck—_

She does not come quietly. Neither does he.

They lie entwined afterwards. He is strangely soft on her in these moments; stroking her hair and pressing stray kisses to her face. Almost a little in awe. It’s odd, when she can still so clearly remember the _contempt_ he once felt for her. 

She clears her throat delicately, propping herself up on one elbow. “What time is—?”

“Just stay. Please. Sheila’s not going to give a shit."

“It’s not about what she thinks.”

“Then what?”

“I just... don’t want her to _know_.”

He makes a face. “Why would she? Say you stayed out all night with the slutty vampires of wrestling—”

“I’m not _lying_. Besides. You’ll sleep better without me here. These beds aren’t built for two.”

He sighs, ignoring the deflection. “Are you always like this, or is it just with me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just... Look, I know you want things. But you think you shouldn’t, and so you say no. But I know you still want them. It's ok to want them. That’s all I’m saying.”

She laughs, to cover the fear. “So... you think I _want_ to stay and listen to you snoring—?”

“Yeah,” he says. Disarmingly honest. “I do.”

She can’t find a reply at first. Opening and closing her mouth. He tucks an errant curl of hair behind her ear as he waits for her to process. Kind; almost boyishly sweet. Is this who he is? Who he _really_ is, underneath it all? Or is he the monster that once lost his shit over a set of title credits? 

Maybe he’s both, she thinks. Just like she’s kind and helpful and clever, and cruel and wicked and stupid enough to fuck her best friend’s husband. Maybe this feels so treacherously good because it's what they both deserve. It was easy to stay the night with Russell; everything so sweet and simple. But it was, perhaps, less honest. 

She sighs and kisses him. “I’ll stay,” she says, against his mouth. “Just don’t ask questions.”

“Why would I?” He pulls her tight against him. “I’ve got the only answer I fucking need.”


End file.
